Masters of the Shadowlands 8 - If only Page 16

  Had she ever seen the guys doing a punishment scene? How bad was this going to get? She turned her head so she could see Galen’s face. “What are you planning to do?”

  His expression hardened with disapproval. “I’m not impressed with Z’s lessons for the trainees.”

  God, no trainee would ask a question like that. Why did she keep forgetting her self-discipline with these guys? “Sorry, Sir.”

  Galen leaned his hip on a corner of the table and regarded her with a grave expression. “Is obedience too much to ask of you?”

  The question took her breath away. “No, Sir.” Knowing she’d disappointed them created an ugly feeling in her chest. They’d been kind to her, she’d asked them to be her Doms, and then she kept smarting off. And deliberately disobeyed a direct order.

  Did they even like her anymore? She swallowed past a tight throat.

  After a minute, Vance laid his hand on her bottom. The warmth sank into her cold skin. “Pretty little ass, don’t you think, Galen?”

  “Ayuh.” Galen pulled the empty chair out from the table and moved it so he could rest his injured leg on the bed. Obviously settling in for the show.

  She gritted her teeth and prepared for the worst. At one time, she’d thought Vance was the easygoing one. That assumption might have been incorrect.

  He stroked and massaged before slapping lightly all over her bottom. She closed her eyes as a kernel of worry sprouted. The care he was taking meant he planned a longer session.

  Slap, slap, slap. He worked his way up and down her bottom in sets of three, pausing briefly before hitting harder. As he established his rhythm, the mild sting turned to a burn. To the beginning of pain. But he stopped and returned to rubbing her bottom.

  She started to smile. That wasn’t bad at all. Almost erotic. She’d been right after all; Vance wasn’t into dispensing pain. She relaxed, enjoying the slight scrape of his calloused palm over her tenderized flesh.

  He leaned forward, reaching toward the table. But the surface had been empty except for…that narrow wooden paddle.

  No!

  The paddle smacked her right in the sweet spot, the rise of her cheek from the crease of her thigh. The sound was startling, the bite meaner.

  She gasped, and her fingers curled, finding only cold wood to hold.

  Smack, smack, smack. “You disobeyed us, Sally.” Smack. Smack. Smack. “Didn’t you ask us to take you on?” He paused.

  Oh God, he really did plan to punish her. Her breath shuddered into her lungs as his words registered. She’d been the one to ask them. “Y-yes, Sir. I did.”

  Smack, smack, smack. “Where we come from, submissives obey their Doms. Is it different in Florida?”

  The pain crept in; the blows blurred together, leaving the burn and pain behind. He’d paused so she could answer. What could she say? She hadn’t even tried to obey them. She closed her eyes, feeling like a failure. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad…please. I didn’t mean to make you mad. “No, Sir. I should have obeyed you.”

  Smack, smack, smack. “Since we’re just getting to know each other, I’m not all that upset. Or disappointed.”

  Her relief actually overcame the pain for a second. Don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me.

  “We try not to give many orders. But you’ll learn that we take obedience seriously.”

  Smack, smack, smack.

  Tears prickled at the back of her eyes. He’d been so good to her. Caring for her after she’d been hurt. “Ready to get off the floor, sweetie?” Holding her so gently after the nightmares. So patient. And look how she’d rewarded him.

  Smack, smack, smack.

  “If you disobey, you get punished. And not in a sexy, fun way. Is that clear?”

  Fire bit into her skin. She tried to blink the tears away; the pain was coming from her heart as well as her skin. “Yes, Sir.”

  After setting the paddle on the table, he rubbed her bottom. His hand felt cool against her burning skin.

  With a long sigh, she let herself relax. That was it. Not so bad—except for the shame simmering deep inside her. The worry that he’d find her too much trouble.

  He could easily find someone who’d work hard to please him. A good submissive.

  She let out a breath. She should be relieved that this hadn’t been so bad. Not a deterrent at all. Was that good? Some submissives worried about upsetting their Doms, knowing they’d get an ass walloping nasty enough to make them think twice about—

  “Up you go, sweetheart.” Vance helped her stand. Rather than pulling her into his arms for some after comforting, he rose. With a cop’s grip around her upper arm, he led her across the room to Galen.

  “Warm-up finished. All yours.” Vance’s words didn’t register for a moment, not until Galen stood up.

  Warm-up? That was a warm-up? And Galen would… She shrank back against Vance.

  The corner of Galen’s mouth tipped up. “This is the difference between playing at the club and actually having a Dom. Your own Doms will take disobedience a bit more seriously. Because they care enough to make you obey.”

  Your own Doms. The phrase ran like liquid sunshine over Sally’s soul before her mind scrambled back behind her defenses. “Are you saying you’ll beat on me because you care?”

  Galen’s black gaze softened. “Actually, yes.” He stroked her cheek with his fingertips, holding her gaze with his.

  Her breathing stopped. He cared. For me?

  And then he took a step back. “Bend over the bed. Rest your weight on your forearms.”

  Oh fuck fuck fuck. As she complied, her arms sank down into the puffy blue quilt. The bed was low, positioning her bottom higher.

  “Move your feet out.”

  She inched her bare feet outward. The position lowered her butt slightly but put more weight on her arms and made it more difficult to stand. More helpless.

  He picked up a thin rattan cane. “All right, pet. I’m not going to count. I will continue until I think you’re properly repentant.”

  “But I am. I—”

  His sigh was loud. “Don’t bother to talk to me. I’m not sure you even know what true remorse means.”

  The first slash of the cane struck her bottom and it hurt, blasting across her skin like fire.

  No! She tried to stand and realized Vance sat at the foot of the bed. His hand curled over her nape, holding her in place.

  Blow after blow smacked into her flesh with a nasty stinging pain. And suddenly, shockingly, she was crying. Hard horrible choking sobs that hurt her throat. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t—didn’t mean to disappoint you. I’m sorry.”

  “There we go.” Galen’s voice was rougher than normal, raw as the pain of her skin. “That was repentant.”

  Vance released her.

  Hard hands mercilessly pulled her onto a lap. Her bottom scraped on the harsh material of jeans, and she tried to jump up—and was pulled back down, secured with muscular, adamant arms. His hand—Galen’s—tucked her head against his shoulder, holding her as she cried.

  Her face pressed against his chest, wetting it with her tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again.

  “I believe you, pet.” She felt his lips against the top of her head, and the jagged glass fence around her heart began to thaw.

  His scent, masculine and rich, wrapped around her, confirming his presence with each breath she took. As the burning subsided, she could feel, even more than his strength, the controlled gentleness with which he held her. How his hand cupped the back of her head. His slow breathing. His patience.

  Gradually her crying changed to hiccupping sobs.

  Vance sat on the bed and took her hand. “All done, Sally.” He stroked her head and tried to release her hand, but her fingers closed around his.

  Stay. Somehow she needed him there—both of them. Their presence was as comforting as having a man in the house if opening the door after dark. Knowing, despite the monsters in the night, that they’d keep her safe.

&nb
sp; GALEN FELT THE tightness in his chest ease as Sally clung to him. A true submissive, she wasn’t fuming at her punishment but had let the tears wash away her shame and free her from guilt.

  When he checked Vance, his partner made a small rotation of his shoulder. No trouble interpreting that unhappy movement.

  Galen too, had been surprised at how long it had taken to break through her defenses. This one didn’t cry easily. And he hadn’t liked administering the last few strokes needed to push her there. He liked erotic pain—and maybe a touch beyond—but this had gone past his comfort level.

  But apparently she’d forgiven them both, and damn, she was wonderful to hold.

  As Sally’s breathing evened out, Vance rummaged through the fridge to get bottled waters. He drank one and set Galen’s on the table. After handing Sally one, he plucked her out of Galen’s arms and sat down with her on his lap.

  Galen nodded approval and rose. She’d need Vance’s arms around her during the next phase. Meantime, he circled the room, drinking his water, stretching out his leg…and formulating his strategy.

  She’d finished drinking by the time Galen took the bottle from her. She gave him a wary look. Smart little submissive.

  Galen moved the chair to the bed, straddled it, and leaned his arms on the back. “Interesting man, your father.”

  She flushed.

  “You know, my parents are almost as uncaring as he is,” Galen said lightly. Even as a teen, he’d compared his parents to frozen fish. Vance’s family had shown him how much he’d missed.

  Sally frowned at him. Her color had returned to normal, although her eyes were still reddened. “My father isn’t—”

  Vance squeezed her in warning.

  She closed her eyes for a second. “Yes, my father is cold.” She reached out to touch Galen’s hand. “I’m sorry if your parents are too.”

  There was that compassionate heart he’d seen before. The little brat had a generous spirit. “How did your father punish you when you messed up?” The bastard hadn’t let her have pets. This evening, he’d edged into what Galen would consider verbal abuse. How far had he gone with a child?

  As she stiffened, Vance combed her hair with his fingers, saying, “Now my dad was a firm believer in spankings, but my mom preferred time-outs. Personally, I’d rather be spanked than be stuck inside all afternoon.”

  Good guy; bad guy. If Galen couldn’t scare a perp into talking, Vance’s sincerity often lured the answers out.

  “He usually sent me to my room.” Her expression darkened, like ink spilled into clear water.

  Galen felt his instincts twang.

  “Without supper?” Vance asked lightly. Over her head, his worried gaze met Galen’s.

  “Huh. At least.” She turned her head into Vance’s chest.

  At least? Galen controlled his voice, keeping it even. “How long did he usually leave you there, Sally?”

  “Oh, just till the next day.” Despite her efforts to make the words flippant, the strain—and hurt—came through. “I’d get to come down to breakfast.”

  And if she’d screwed up at breakfast? “And the longest?”

  “Uh. Not much—”

  “Be honest, sweetheart,” Vance said, and she stiffened, catching the warning note.

  “Three days,” she whispered into Vance’s chest. Her laugh was thin, filled with pain. “If the school hadn’t called to ask why I was absent, I wonder if I’d still be there.”

  Why hadn’t someone sent the bastard to hell and gone? Galen’s jaw muscles clenched, hindering his ability to talk.

  “How old were you?” Vance was doing better than Galen at keeping the questions coming.

  “I think I was twelve. My mother had…” Her mouth pressed into a thin line of pain.

  There it is. Like in his favorite childhood game, clues would eventually line up to reveal the crime. Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick. He hadn’t planned to ask this so soon, but the opening was there. “Sally, why did your father say you killed your mother?”

  Every bit of color drained from her face.

  “YOU…” MOM. OH, Mom. Sally couldn’t—couldn’t believe he’d asked such an unspeakable question. Her thoughts fled, disappeared, hollowing her mind into dark emptiness. Like a dog’s choke chain, tightness circled her throat until only strangled wheezing escaped. Unable to even look at the cruel beast who would ask such a thing, she pushed her face against Vance’s chest.

  “Answer the question, Sally.” With a determined grip, Vance turned her to face his partner.

  No. I won’t.

  Galen’s gaze met hers, ensnared hers. The patient expectation in his expression was impossible to ignore. After a moment, he threw her something easier to answer. “How old were you when she died?”

  “Eleven.” Saturday afternoon. Her straw-filled hair had been in tangles from playing in the barn with half-grown cats. Her homework had been finished the night before, because she was a geek. Called into the house to answer the phone. Lauren was having a semisurprise birthday party that night and invited Sally. A popular girl had asked her, the chubby nerd, to a party. Her excitement had made her feel like a balloon ready to pop. Then it all went wrong. “And I got a new dress.”

  She shut her stupid mouth, knowing it was too late.

  Galen’s expression had sharpened. “Why was a new dress a problem?”

  “Please, Mom. Please. I’ll do my chores and I’ll clean the barn and…” She’d begged and promised, because she just knew that looking right would let her be one of—maybe not the in crowd—but maybe the normal girls. She wouldn’t still be stuck in with the losers, the really overweight ones, or those on welfare. The ones who had pimples. Or never washed. God, how shallow they’d all been. She’d been. “Father had said no. No more money for clothes.”

  “So how did you end up with a new dress?” Vance asked gently.

  “Mom drove me into town. It was snowing. Blowing.” Leaving the store, she’d been blinded by her hair whipping around her face. The car shook with the gusts of wind. The snow hitting the windshield sounded like sizzling bacon. A storm turning to a blizzard.

  Galen’s intent eyes lit with comprehension. The ancient Greeks loved tragic plays; did his heritage mean he’d understand? “An accident?” he asked softly.

  “The bridge was old. There was ice under new snow.” Skidding. She swallowed, her mouth tasting like metal. “The car… The railing broke.” Screaming and falling and screaming. The smash, breaking, shattering sounds, the horrendous impact that could still knock her out of her nightmares. “We went over the side.” So much pain, blood everywhere, like a kicked-over can of red paint. Mom. Mom! Not answering. Shaking her. Screaming and crying and—

  “Shhhh.” Vance stroked her hair.

  As Sally had finally stroked her mother’s. Soft hair. Pretty. Had Mom felt her attempt at comfort, even in heaven?

  “And your father blames you because she died?” Vance asked.

  Her voice came out harsh. “Yeah.”

  “Because you’d…” Galen’s voice trailed off, an invitation for the rest.

  She tried to look away. He caught her chin gently. Firmly. Turned her back. Damn him. “Because I begged. She didn’t want to buy anything, didn’t want to spend the money, and I thought only of myself and made her go to town”—her voice rose—“because I’m selfish and stupid and always wanting stuff.”

  Her shouting should have made him back away. Should have made Vance release her instead of holding her tighter.

  Galen’s lips turned up, his gaze filled with approval that…that she could actually recognize. “That’s a good baby girl,” he murmured. His mouth touched hers for a second, his lips soft. “Thank you for sharing with me.”

  The taste of salt made her realize tears were running down her cheeks.

  Vance wiped them away gently. “You’re not selfish. Or stupid. Your father is the stupid one.”

  “Exactly.” Galen squeezed her shoulder
before rising to walk around the room, his cane forgotten in the corner.

  Exhausted, she lay in Vance’s arms and just watched his slow, limping circuits.

  Eventually, he came to a stop in front of her. “Homework for you. We’ll expect it tomorrow night.”

  Homework? Had she slipped into an alternate universe, one where a crying outburst was followed by school? “Excuse me?”

  His lips quirked. “Homework. Use one of your school notebooks. I want an essay about what a parent can reasonably expect from a preteen. Specifics, please. Include quotes from people about whining and begging and adolescent temper. Use the Internet—and document your sources.”

  “What?” Her brain wasn’t keeping up, no way, no how.

  “There are quite a few parenting sites out there,” Vance said helpfully, obviously on board with the insane scheme. “You might try those first.”

  “But I got my mother killed.”

  “Baby girl,” Galen said. “You didn’t. You were a typical irritating teenager, wanting something and whining to get it. If we put every teen who displayed that kind of obnoxious behavior in jail, we’d depopulate the world.”

  “You’d have to start with my nieces and nephews.” Vance chuckled. “‘I want. I want. I want,’ alternates only with ‘I need. I need. I need.’ Sweetheart, you were a normal young girl. Not someone evil.”

  As she looked at Vance and Galen, her eyes filled with tears again, blurring the room’s walls to an underwater montage. Vance made a soft sound and tucked her back under his chin, rocking her slightly.

  “I think you’ve had enough, pet,” Galen said. His eyes crinkled. “But do your homework before bedtime tomorrow night, or you’ll be bending over the bed again.”

  And suddenly she could again feel how sore her bottom was. Ouchers.

  No wonder Kim thought twice before disobeying Master Raoul.

  Chapter Nine

  After a stop in the kitchen, Vance stepped out the back door, feeling more battered than after a college football practice. The moon was high, illuminating his way across the patio, down the walk to the lake. The muggy night air wrapped around him, making him shake his head. Back in Ohio, he’d still be wearing a sweatshirt.